You Can't Spell Love Without Crazy
by MeliLovesYa
Summary: A tale of love, magic, stupidity, lust, digression, yaoi, insanity, sugar, spice, and everything nice.
1. Requiem for a Wanker

**A/N****I swear to Britannia Angel that I get my best ideas in the shower.**

**DISCALIMER**: I own nothing! I technically own the plot, but I doubt I'm the first one with the idea. I've never seen anything like this, but I'm sure it's been done.

**WARNING**: Weird pairing, Guyxguy nonsense, language, OOC-ness, and crack!

**PAIRINGS**: EnglandxRomano, mentions of AustriaxHungary, and various

**OTHER INFORMATION:** I based the way this was written on the idea that there is one time zone for all of Europe, and you are easily able to walk from country to country, as it is presented in the show itself. *Shrugs* So you can walk from Russia all the way to Spain in a matter of hours, if that makes any sense.

**SLANG/TRANSLATIONS:** "Jefe España" – Boss Spain [Spanish]

"Buono tomato. Buono tomato. Buono, buono, oh- tomato! Ci vediamo! Ah, Romano!" – Tasty tomato. Tasty tomato. Tasty, tasty, oh-tomato! See you! Ah, Romano! _(From his character song: Romano's Delicious Tomato Song) _[Italian] {"Buono" usually means good, but in this case it can mean tasty. I asked my mom, who grew up speaking Italian, and she said that it can mean "tasty" if used with food.}

"Wanker" – a person who jerks off, but Arthur calls everyone that [British]

"Nancy-boy" – a man who is rather effeminate and/or homosexual [British]

"Bollocks" – testicles, but is usually used as Americans use "Balls" to express surprise or dismay [British]

"Sod off" – piss off or fuck off [British]

"Bloody" – damned, or an equivalent to fucking but a tad less offensive depending on how it's used [British]

"Dago" – an insulting name for a Spaniard [British]

**RomanoxEngland: The Epic Tale of Girl Romano Chapter: 1 Requiem for a Wanker **

_**Friday, August 26, 2011 8:54 AM: England's House**_

England sat cross-legged on the wooden floor in the darkest room of his entire home. Pale eyelids shielded the nation's emerald eyes from the faintly glowing purple design sketched onto the ground. The country's arms were hovering cautiously over the intricate circle-star, his mouth spewing a chant of what seems like nonsense to the untrained ear. Broken bits of what was once a chair were strategically placed in the exact center of the demonic pentagram, as they were the incentive the ritual of darkness was based upon.

:-:-:

_**Friday, August 26, 2011 8:54 AM: Somewhere around France**_

"Chigi! Get away from me, Tomato-bastard! It's way too early for this shit!" Romano called over his shoulder at the tanned man chasing him.

España laughed merrily, "I don't want to, Lovi! Come give Jefe España a hug!" Screw his minion's feelings, Antonio wanted a hug.

Lovino swore and blushed, his legs pumping him even faster as he propelled himself away from the too-cheerful Spaniard. That jackass desperately needed to figure out that the Italian isn't in love with him.

As the Southern half of Italy began growing tired, the 'tomato-bastard' far behind, he began to scout out a place to rest. As he examined his surroundings, Lovino began to recognize where he was; England's property.

He sighed thankfully; pleased he hadn't ended up near Switzerland's house. That man shot everything on site without question, after all. Shoot first, ask later. Romano had almost gotten his manly-bits shot off and does not wish for that to ever happen again...

_Lovino Vargas was fleeing from Spain—_ina situation almost identical to the one he was in currently_—when he stumbled upon Vash Zwingli's home. The blonde in question, along with Lichtenstein, was lazing around in the garden and sipping from a ceramic tea cup. When his green eyes locked with Lovino's amber ones, Switzerland already had his gun cocked at the Italian with Lili behind him. _

_The brunette held his hands up to signify that he was unarmed and peaceful, but the Swiss man shot at him nonetheless. Romano panicked and bolted as the blonde continued firing his shotgun at the distressed Italian. _

_When he successfully arrived back at his house, he finally gave his clothing the long-awaited inspection. It turned out that his dick had only been missed by a fraction of an inch. Twice. _

Needless to say, he no longer has those pants.

The nation studied the building that housed one of España's long-term enemies curiously, debating whether to pay England a visit or not. He ultimately decided he might as well go for it and burst in on the poor Brit. Antonio hates the owner of the house anyway, so it's not likely that the tomato-bastard will even suspect to find Lovi at Arthur's house.

The Mediterranean nation also chose to be a nuisance, so he crept around to the back of the house like a ninja and searched for an unlocked door or window of some sort.

To his immense pleasure, he located an open window after around a minute of what would make a hilarious clip montage. He smirked deviously as he hoisted himself through his lucky find.

As he began his trek throughout the foreign house, Romano hummed to himself to keep himself readily entertained. Searching for England seems to some pretty dull work. "Buono tomato. Buono tomato. Buono, buono, oh- tomato! Ci vediamo! Ah, Romano!" he sung to himself as he inspected the inside of the Brit's cupboard for something to snack on, preferably a delicious tomato.

To his dismay, the Italian found nothing that was suitable for consumption, but that is to be expected from England.

He merely groaned and slammed the pantry doors shut, grumbling as his stomach did the same. Perhaps it wasn't such a good idea to skip breakfast...

The nation continued his pondering as he resumed his wandering about the building.

After about ten minutes, the brunette's ears could faintly detect some awkward sounds emanating from a room that appeared to be farther down the hall he was exploring.

Lovino ambled closer to the source of the sound as he ceased his humming. At his arrival, he was met by a large, seemingly ancient door. A somewhat evil-sounding chant was seeping out from under the slab of wood, along with a suspicious purple haze. Curiosity dominating his common sense, the southern country practically kicked the door open.

:-:-:

_**Friday, August 26, 2011 9:48 AM: England's House**_

England's concentration shattered like glass as Lovino Vargas burst through the door of his Black Magic Chamber. The rambunctious intruder had begun screeching incoherent nonsense and gibberish as Arthur Kirkland slid his eyelids open and focused his irises on the brunette, who was freaking the fuck out.

This turned out to be an immense mistake on England's part.

The violet mist that had previously surrounded the splintered remains of Busby's chair dispelled instantly, only to rematerialize around the Italian's lithe body. The thickening cloud of purple began to swirl mercilessly around the trapped tsundere. Romano attempted to cry out, but his very breath was commandeered by the maelstrom of mauve.

Arthur Kirkland could only observe—quite helplessly—as his fellow nation was swallowed by the ravenous fog that he had conjured.

Soon after, however, the haze dispersed. This left a very naked and utterly different Lovi shivering on the hard wooden floor.

England fumed, "Oh bloody hell! What are you doing here, you wanker? And why are you naked? And why are you... A... Girl...?"

It took the nude nation a few moments to comprehend what had been spoken, but when _she_ did, all hell broke loose. "**I'M A WHAT? DON'T FUCK ME WITH ME, BASTARD!**" Romano roared, shooting up from her sprawled out position on the floor.

The Brit regained his composure swiftly, "You're a woman, you bloody nancy-boy."

With that statement, Lovi decided it was high time to look down at herself and see if what the island nation said was true.

She almost fainted when she saw the heavy, lightly tanned breasts protruding from her previously flat and somewhat toned chest.

She _actually_ fainted when she reached down and felt her own vagina.

"Oh bollocks," Arthur sighed angrily, excruciatingly pissed at himself for his weak resolve. If he had a stronger will, he could've kept his eyes shut.

The only functioning country in the room hefted his unconscious counterpart over his surprisingly wiry shoulder and carried the poor nation to a bedroom, still attempting to fully accept what kind of mess he had gotten his pale ass into. He didn't really know the other person too well, but that is no surprise. Neither of them have many friends. Maybe they'll find friends in each other...

Romano woke up around twenty minutes after she had blacked out from pure shock. To her extreme displeasure, she was still ass-naked and still very much a woman. The tsundere nation swore once again as Arthur strolled back into his room, a small tray of tea in his hands.

"You bastard! You did this to me on purpose! What the hell was that weird-ass chanting anyway?" the now female Italian demanded hotly as she pointed an accusatory finger at the Brit. Her impressive rage bubbled inside her like a volcano as she finally grasped the idea that something bad and possibly dangerous happened to her.

The magician in question's eyes narrowed dangerously, "Sod off! I was only trying to fix a bloody chair! You just decided to randomly burst in here and cause me to lose my concentration!" He absolutely loathed being accused of something he wasn't responsible for, and that was _exactly _what was happening in his biased eyes.

He cooled off quickly, however, and easily spoke more casually.

"I was also apparently changing the chair's gender as well," the blonde mused as an afterthought. He hadn't known that chairs even had genders; or that they were subject to change.

The brunette just remained silent as she came to terms with the new body and sex. The volcano's wrath diminished as she made peace with the fact that she was a woman. There was no helping it at that point, she decided ruefully.

Both the nations remained silent for a time, lost in the mazes of their thoughts.

A few moments later, one of England's two butlers knocked on the door, causing both the nations in the room to jump. "Sir? I have brought the clothing you asked me to. May I enter?" Edmund inquired respectfully from outside the wooden slab.

Romano yanked the comforter up to cover her previously exposed chest and gave Arthur a reluctant thumbs up. Might as well comply until they pissed her off once again.

"Yes, if you would, Edmund. Thank you very much."

At England's command, the politely smiling man clad in black swung the door open and strolled through it. He handed a light brown parcel to his employer and bowed swiftly. He then took his leave, after winking at the helplessly nude woman in the bed. The man was undoubtedly handsome with his curly short brown hair and sparkling cerulean eyes.

The butler only caused Lovino to blush even more excessively and the blonde man grinned knowingly at the Mediterranean nation's reaction to his trusty servant. "Here. These are some clothes Seychelles left at my home the last time she was here. They should fit you, if I'm not mistaken."

The brunette just nodded mutely and grasped the parcel, then gave the island nation an expecting glance.

"O-oh, right. I'll be outside. Call me back in when you're done," Arthur blushed profusely, more out of embarrassment of his own momentary stupidity rather than the thought of a naked _female_ South Italy.

Romano laughed somewhat mockingly, "Idiot. I don't want you to leave. I fucking need your help putting my goddamn bra on. I've never been a woman before, dumbass."

"Sod off! I was only being polite! Put your own bloody bra on."

"It's your damn fault I'm a woman! You better fucking help me!"

"Fine, but you better be kinder to me! I could give you to that dago Spain if you're too rude."

"You wouldn't fucking dare."

"Try me, pasta breath."


	2. He Blinded Me with Magic

**A/N****This party's getting crazy!**

**DISCALIMER**: I own nothing! I technically own the plot, but I doubt I'm the first one with the idea. I've never seen anything like this, but I'm sure it's been done.

**WARNING**: Weird pairing, Guyxguy nonsense, language, OOC-ness, and crack!

**PAIRINGS**: EnglandxRomano, mentions of AustriaxHungary, and various

**SLANG/TRANSLATIONS: (Yes, I'm an American. That's why I'm translating slang; for myself and others who are too lazy to Google slang and translations.)**

"Ja" – yes [German]

"Chap" – usually used respectfully, but used sarcastically in this case [British]

"A tad" – equivalent to "a bit" [British, technically]

"Programmes" – British spelling of 'programs' [British]

**RomanoxEngland: The Epic Tale of Girl Romano Chapter: 2 He Blinded Me with Magic**

_**Friday, August 26, 2011 12:16 PM: England's House/Austria's House**_

"Hello Austria. Is Hungary there, by chance?" England inquired the snobbish man on the other end of the phone line.

Roderich Edelstein replied almost immediately, "Ja. Let me go get her." The brunette set the phone on the table beside the base and pranced off to locate his girlfriend.

"Elizaveta! England is on the phone for you!" He purred loudly as he popped his head into the girl's room.

Elizaveta Héderváry looked up from her book, "Hmn? England? Alright."

She clambered off her bed and ambled over to the phone, grasping it and bringing it up to her ear. "Hey, Arthur," she greeted the blonde cheerfully. It had been quite some time since she'd last spoken to the undeniably charming man.

"Hello, Elizaveta. I require your momentary assistance," the Brit replied swiftly, glad she was in a pleasant mood.

The brunette raised an eyebrow that the blonde couldn't see, "Oh? What do you need help with?" England asking for help is unheard of, so this of course piqued her interest.

"…I turned Romano into a girl by accident and I'm hoping you can give him some advice. He's completely clueless about everything that has to do with living as a woman. He has to be a female for a few days, because it'll take some time to regain all the magical energy I unintentionally used on him," England sighed despondently as he explicated his unfortunate predicament to the girl. His embarrassment levels were nearly off the charts—and he wasn't even the one transfigured into a chick.

Hungary was actually quite helpful with her explanations and advice. She gave instructions on how to dress, walk, put on makeup, and other things that assisted Lovino to function properly as a woman. Her last words before hanging up, however, mortified the pair of nations beyond everything.

"Also, I'd recommend pretending that you are a couple. Actually… I implore that you do. It would keep creepers like France and Prussia away from Romano as long as he's female. Alright, now it's a requirement."

Both the countries in Arthur's house froze as the other line went dead. They slowly turned to face each other, blushes creeping across their faces.

"W-well… I guess we should listen to Elizaveta… I mean, it does make a damn lot of sense…" Romano mumbled quietly as she fiddled with the collar of her light blue dress. It's not like dresses were anything new for the Italian, but it had been quite some time since she'd worn one.

England nodded in flustered agreement, "Y-yeah… I su-suppose so… so, uh, are we a couple now…?"

"Y-yeah! You're my boyfriend, Arthur! So prepare yourself. Got it?" Lovino confirmed, her face resembling one of the tomatoes she loves so much as she played with the auburn locks that reached her shoulders.

:-:-:

_**Friday, August 26, 2011 01:25 PM: England**_

Soon after they decided to become a pseudo-couple, the pair took to the streets of England. They had a week to slaughter, so they might as well spend time doing something entertaining, apparently like touring the posh country.

Anyway; now the duo was roaming around England's land—holding hands, of course, to become adjusted to keeping their image—and sightseeing.

"Hurry up, Lovino! It tickles like a whore!" Arthur whined childishly and fidgeted as the brunette used a pen from the bank they were in to draw a mustache on the pale man's index finger.

She just laughed and replied, "It'd be easier if the fucking pen wasn't nailed down."

"Oh, stop exaggerating. It's only _chained_ down," the blonde corrected his girlfriend playfully.

Once the mustache was completed, the couple exited the bank and skipped—yes, _skipped_—down the street, taking photographs of Arthur posing in front of different monuments with his finger under his nose. In one he seemed to be licking Big Ben, in another he appeared to be holding the London Bridge in the palm of his hand, in another he was taking a picture of Lovino taking a picture of him, and many more goofy yet fun things.

Romano decided that she wanted to be in some pictures as well. So they have shots of her pretending to eat the Victoria Memorial outside of Buckingham Palace, appearing to be pushing Stonehenge, faking being trapped in a phone booth, and tons of others.

The duo then began photo-bombing people. They would put bunny ears on people when they took pictures, sneak into large group photos, and Lovino even lifted her dress up over her face and jumped in front of an elderly couple's camera while they tried to take a nice shot of a double-decker bus.

After some time, they were finally caught by a middle-aged man with a magnificent mustache. "**WHAT THE FUCK DO YA THINK YA'RE DOING, YA DUMBASSES? WHO DA HELL SAID YA COULD BE IN OUR FUCKING FAMILY PHOTO?**" the man shrieked, causing the troublesome couple to cover their ears.

Lovino smirked, sadly the effect it usually had on people wasn't as intense as usual because of her state as a female, but it got her point across quite well nonetheless. "Problem?"

"You mad, bro?" Arthur continued, and then whispered to his girlfriend that he wished he had a trollface print-out with him. The brunette giggled in agreement as she pictured herself and her boyfriend snickering behind a flimsy paper with the trollface on it. The man fumed, his face turning red from anger.

The pair teamed up against the American tourist, locking their arms to signify this, and had a ten minute argument with their current opponent.

The adversaries went back-and-forth for ages; volume escalating with every breath.

When Lovino finally decided to call it quits, she lightly nudged her boyfriend in the ribs, and he ceased his incessant bickering with the intimidating redneck.

Romano rolled her amber eyes at the immature man, "Oh, chill, bastard. Let's go, Arthur." The duo was comprised of nations; they were allowed to be childish. It _is_ kind part of their jobs.

"Alright," England shrugged and agreed with his cheeky girlfriend. "By the way, old chap, I'm England. I would recommend that you respect me a tad more, because this is my turf. This entire island is my bloody land."

That effectively shut the guy up. He just glared at the handsome twosome then stalked off, mumbling what Lovi was sure were curses under his breath.

The couple just laughed their asses off and continued their picture-destructive rampage. It was the most either of them had ever had. Period.

It took some time, but they eventually grew bored of trolling the shit out of people. So they decided it would be a wondrous idea to hop onto one of London's famous buses and start a party. They got the entire population of the vehicle up and grooving while the pair themselves sang to their hearts content. This fiesta lasted over an hour, and by the end it was a dirty, sexy rave rather than the original PG-rated dance. Everyone was grinding; but no two people were grinding harder than our favorite magician and his… girlfriend.

They returned to Arthur's house once they got tired of the lighter and glow-stick filled mode of public transportation. The pair curled up on the couch—after they each took showers—and watched a couple hours of crappy British 'programmes' as they subconsciously cuddled. They went to bed once the clock struck midnight, which is adorably cheesy on their part. England kissed Romano's cheek before blushing and dashing into his bedroom that was directly across the hall from the girl's own room. Lovi smiled, in an astonishingly love-struck way, and raised her hand to caress her lightly tanned cheek.

The nation sighed longingly and retreated back into her bedroom.


	3. The Plot Thinnens

**A/N ****Dammit that's fabulous.**

**DISCALIMER**: I own nothing! I technically own the plot, but I doubt I'm the first one with the idea. I've never seen anything like this, but I'm sure it's been done.

**WARNING**: Weird pairing, Guyxguy nonsense, language, OOC-ness, and crack!

**PAIRINGS**: EnglandxRomano, mentions of AustriaxHungary, and various

**SLANG/TRANSLATIONS: **"Bloke" – casual term for a male that the speaker is familiar with [British]

"Donk" – ass [British]

"Plonker" – idiot [British]

**RomanoxEngland: The Epic Tale of Girl Romano Chapter: 3 The Plot Thinnens**

_**Saturday, August 27, 2011 9:56 AM: England's House**_

That morning, Lovino was shaken to consciousness, courtesy of a cute maid named Melody. The woman was indeed under the command of Arthur, but the blonde had never specified how the maid should go about waking his girlfriend up. Whoever said servants had to be nice?

The girl met up with her partner at the mahogany table in the kitchen. The kitchen itself was a quaint little room, complete with a cute fireplace the occupants of the house used for roasting marshmallows. The owner of the land was already at the table; a cup of tea in his pale hand. He greeted the female nation—who wearing only a skimpy nightgown—and blushed when she plopped down into the chair across from the island.

"'ere you are! Ze best food I could prepare!" a thick French accent echoed around the kitchen as a tall man with dark hair and matching goatee slid plates of food in front of the duo.

The man merely grinned and danced off after the pair had mumbled 'thanks' simultaneously.

The moment the Frenchman had taken his leave, Lovino pounced. "You seriously got a French cook? Why?"

"Well, I know you don't like my food and… well if you don't want to eat it, then don't! I'm sure Uni and Flying Mint Bunny would appreciate it," the flustered man huffed in annoyance, his blush still present.

The brunette rolled her eyes, "Yeah, I'm sure the imaginary freaks that follow you around will love it." Despite that incredibly harsh statement, the girl dug into her meal.

They enjoyed a serene time, idle chatter replacing the awkward silence, consuming the meal that Aubin had whipped up.

"Are you quite finished eating? We should go outside. I'm rather bored, and we have time to kill before this month's World Meeting," Arthur spoke after the couple had completed their meal.

Lovino nodded, recalling the time she had wasted idly wandering around the man's property, "Yeah, sure. I saw this pretty damn awesome river near your house, so I'm thinking we should head over there. Can we?"

"Yeah, that sounds great. Are we going to go swimming?" the blonde inquired with a face-splitting grin. Having fun seems such a foreign concept to a well-mannered bastard.

The brunette considered this, "Alright. Why the hell not?" It was midsummer, after all, and hot as hell.

"Wonderful. I'll be right back. I have to go see if Seychelles left a bathing suit behind as well."

With that, the British man exited the kitchen.

The whole situation only served to puzzle the Italian woman. Things have been doing that to her a lot since that fateful morning when she was thrust haphazardly into her current body. Seems like ages go, but she truly was male twenty-four hours ago.

She was truly cheerful, for the first time in ages, and didn't want the feeling to pass. The thought of her boyfriend's smiling face made her heart flutter in ways it has never done before. It was a whole new ballpark; and Lovi was playing with all she's got.

"I found one!" a sudden voice interrupted the Italian's musings. "It's rather… well… it should fit you," England mumbled as he held out a neon green bikini to his partner.

Lovi's amber eyes widened when her vision focused on the revealing piece of clothing. She blushed profusely, grabbed the water-wear, and bolted into the bathroom that connected to the kitchen in embarrassment.

"Babe? Are you okay?" Arthur questioned the door concernedly as he lightly rapped his knuckles against it. He was concerned about her for a reason he himself didn't entirely comprehend.

"Yeah, bastard. I'm fine! I just need to get this damn thing on," Lovino replied playfully—the crimson still dusting her cheeks—as she yanked her nightgown over her auburn head.

When the female nation emerged from the confines of the restroom, time seemingly stopped. The magician had his very breath stolen by the sight of his gorgeous girlfriend. '_Would be even better if she was still a bloke_' was the only coherent brain wave that tumbled through the blonde's clouded mind.

"S-stop staring, bastard! Just go and fucking get dressed!" the female brunette fumed cutely as she stomped up the stairs. England chuckled to himself and obliged, pursuing the girl up to their bedrooms.

They split at the spot between their doors, and the island appreciatively slapped Lovi right on the 'donk' before he practically dove into his room. Even after the door slammed shut, the nation's cackles were still clear as day.

The female hummed contentedly to herself as she scoured her room for a towel and hair brush. She was actually quite excited to go swimming with Arthur—the river really was gorgeous from what she had seen. There was also another reason, but the Italian chose to ignore that scandalous voice in the back of her mind.

"You quite finished yet?" a voice on the other side of the girl's door inquired thoughtfully, the doorknob jiggling to emphasize the vague urgency.

The Mediterranean nation didn't reply and merely swung the slab of wood open to reveal England. The man had a drawstring bag hanging off of his shoulder and Union Jack trousers clinging to his pale legs, causing the brunette to giggle subconsciously at the cliché.

The twosome exited the house soon after, strolling into a rather ornate garden kept by the magician himself. An extensive forest flowered from the flatness surrounding the housing structure; and the small river could be heard gurgling nearby.

"I bet I can beat you to the stream!" Romano challenged her boyfriend haughtily, hands resting soundly on her neon-green-bikini-clad hips.

He laughed loudly from a foot behind her, "Oh, you're on! One... Two... Thre-"

"GO!" the Italian yelled, cutting the magician off, and then bolted toward the creek.

Arthur cursed and trailed after her, successfully catching up _and _passing her as he pumped his pale legs. He grinned widely and—after tossing his bag harshly onto the bank—cannon-balled into the crystal clear water as soon as he possibly could.

"Aw, no fair!" the lightly tanned female pouted. "You're stronger than me! I call shenanigans!"

The blonde gazed at her skeptically once his golden head pierced the halcyon surface of liquid, "Oh, really? I'm the one who should be calling shenanigans, you plonker! You bloody cheated."

The brunette didn't deem that comment worthy of a response, so she just flipped into the stream.

The duo laughed and played, splashing each other and having a blast, for quite some time.

After around four hours of goofing around in the frigid water, the twosome decided to start heading back to Arthur's house in order to get ready for the ill-fated World Meeting. It was pure horrid luck that the meeting was that day; but England and Romano were both obligated to go.

Arthur's presence was required due to the fact that he was the host, but that didn't mean he had to lead the meeting. Germany usually handled that. The information was quite crucial to all of the countries, so both of them had to receive it. There isn't attendance or anything—there are far too many people attending for something like that—so it wouldn't matter who they thought Lovi was as long as she heard and understood the information being distributed.

Well, that's what is _supposed_ to happen, but we all know it never goes down like that.

One thing, however, was in the favor. It was _wonderful_ fortune that the conference was being held in The United Kingdom that year. No travel necessary.

Once at the house, bickering ensued as they attempted to decide what they would tell the other nations. Romano thought that they should tell the countries who she was and what happened. They had nothing to lose, right? What does it really matter? They could just explain how it was a definite fluke.

Arthur was convinced otherwise.

"You stupid wanker! Why would we bloody tell them? Do you really _want _to be teased for the next four hundred years?" the Brit demanded hotly, his headstrong nature preventing him from speaking with an inside voice.

Lovino froze when what her boyfriend had pointed out registered in her head, and she shook her head dejectedly as an infectious blush crept across her slightly tanned face.

England definitely won that argument.


	4. France'd

**A/N The fuck are you looking at?**

**P.S.****There are vague references to internet things in many of these chapters. Leave a review telling me which ones you catch!**

**DISCALIMER**: I own nothing! I technically own the plot, but I doubt I'm the first one with the idea. I've never seen anything like this, but I'm sure it's been done.

**WARNING**: Weird pairing, Guyxguy nonsense, language, OOC-ness, and crack!

**PAIRINGS**: EnglandxRomano, mentions of AustriaxHungary, and various

**SLANG/TRANSLATIONS: **"Bonjour, mon chérie!" – Hello (or good day), my dear! (Female "dear", chéri is for a male) [French]

"Yo" – a very informal greeting originally used by American gangsters [American]

"Rump" – a polite way of referring to one's butt [British]

"Arse" – a rather crude way of referring to one's butt [British]

**RomanoxEngland: The Epic Tale of Girl Romano Chapter: 4 France'd**

_**Saturday, August 27, 2011 4:37 PM: World Conference Hall in England (meeting begins at 5:00 PM)**_

"Ohonhonhon, what do we 'ave 'ere?" Francis Bonnefoy purred seductively as he grasped Romano's now petite, feminine hand and lifted it to his lips."Bonjour, mon chérie! What ees such a lovely woman like yourself doing here, beautiful?" The duo had arrived mere minutes before and France had already pounced on the seemingly helpless female.

Before the now infuriated brunette could punch the sex-demon's lights out, an even more pissed England stepped between the pair. This move effectively severed the link between his girlfriend and his nemesis. "She's my girlfriend, you bloody frog. Her name is uh… _Diana_ and I better not ever see your hands anywhere near her again, got it?" the shorter blonde snarled, and France could practically feel the anger emanating from the Brit.

Lovino stuck her pink tongue out, "Yeah, bastard! Leave me the hell alone! I only want Arthur!" Once the Italian let this tidbit of information slip—surprising especially herself, because she wasn't _technically _aware of anything but apathy toward the Brit—a particularly dark blush crept across her lightly sun-kissed cheeks.

The emerald-eyed man blushed darkly as well, but recovered soon after. "Babe, let's just go sit down."

"Alright, love. As long as I can sit on your lap!" Lovino giggled adorably, trying her hardest to be a convincing girl head-over-heels in love. It truly was difficult to take on an entirely different personality.

England smirked cockily, "You're always welcome to, darling. Just try to keep it clean during the meeting. Then we can go home." He winked at the brunette and flicked off Francis before wrapping a pale arm around his girlfriend's waist and sauntering over to his seat.

Romano's cheeks changed from slightly tanned to incredibly crimson as she plopped down on her boyfriend's green-trouser-clad lap. Doing something like this of her own free will with anyone other than Spain was new for her. Intimacy with a man seems such a foreign concept.

After regaining the ability to use her voice, the brunette struck up an engaging conversation with her boyfriend. Well... I mean... It was about if it was possible to laugh and snort cheese out of your nose, but they talked about it for a long and happy time nonetheless.

...So much for engaging.

Once more nations began filing into the conference hall, the couple fell silent. They merely observed their rather chaotic surroundings.

Then England lifted his legs and placed them on what is usually America's seat, and the Italian adjusted so her legs were on top of his. Lovino allowed herself to lean into Arthur, snuggling soundly into his remarkably—for his size—muscled chest.

The blonde smiled and rested his head against the girl's, winding an arm around her with his pale hand lying on the brunette's stomach tranquilly. He sighed in contentment as the female country did the same.

"Yo, England!" America greeted his brother cheerfully, jolting the Brit out of his peaceful and placid state. "Who is that girl you got, Artie?"

Arthur snarled at the childish nickname and he responded, "My girlfriend. Now, if you could, kindly **SOD OFF**." He really didn't have the patience required for talking to his brother.

"Well, nice to meet you, girlfriend, your poor sucker," Alfred Jones ignored the now fuming Brit and spoke directly to Lovino. "What's your name? Stupid England didn't tell me!"

The brunette smirked, "Maybe that's because you don't need to know, fattie." Fucking with the hamburger-bastard it just too much fun for the Italian to have resisted.

This really struck a chord with the American. "No! **YOU'RE** the fattie!" he wailed, tears welling up in his cerulean eyes, before he fled to go complain to Japan.

"Oh the poor man," England chuckled sympathetically as he watched his little brother dry sob into Kiku Honda's small chest.

Lovi laughed, "Yeah. This world is full of dumbasses." I don't think the girl truly comprehends the truth of that statement.

The blonde just hummed in concurrence, burying his face into his girlfriend's hair. He inhaled deeply, detecting the fait scent of some kind of flower, and grinned to himself. So Lovino uses girl shampoo. How ridiculously ironic.

As the couple relaxed there, in their own little bubble of serenity, the bustling commotion of the pre-meeting shenanigans kept on rolling and left the duo behind.

Romano was very happy, just lounging in Arthur's arms. It felt so natural, so nice, so _right_. The daunting thought kind of scared Lovi.

She had known the man for years. They had never been friends, or even acquaintances, so she did not see the island often at all. They were merely aware of the other's existence and nothing more. But here they were; snuggling in the World Hall conference room.

It only baffled the Italian.

The first time they had spoken more than a few words to each other had been yesterday morning, and now they're an incredibly handsome couple. It didn't make any sense at all. Then again, neither did the fact that the southern nation had no complaints about being inexplicably close to the Brit.

What an adorably odd world.

"Okay! Everyone sit down and shut up! It's time for ze Vorld Meeting!" Germany demanded as he slammed his hands onto the table in order to ensnare the attention of even the chattiest nations.

Once every mouth had snapped shut, even Poland's, the conference began.

All-in-all, overlooking a few minor disruptions courtesy of Alfred, the meeting went by smoothly. Sure, they hadn't accomplished anything other than constructing a pancake helicopter, but no one had begun any large, dramatic scenes and all was well and good.

The most exciting thing that had occurred—beside the helicopter, of course—was an extremely creepy exchange between Russia, the Baltics, Romano, and England. Ivan Braginski had questioned the couple dutifully, the three shivering nations cowering right behind him. The tall man inquired about Lovino's identity and the blonde introduced her in a way that was very similar to the way he had spoken to France. It was a lot less rude, but still had the same 'get away or you die' air to it.

The silver-headed man had merely smiled eerily and ambled off, the threesome of terrified countries being dragged behind him back to their seats.

So... That meeting was basically boring as all get out.

When the other countries began to disperse—the conference having ended—England gazed down at his gorgeous girlfriend.

Lovi had fallen asleep almost instantly after the confrontation from Russia. She had grown tired of the blown kisses from Francis, the glares from Alfred, the curious looks from Antonio, and the apparently sympathetic smiles from Elizaveta. So the Italian had slid her eyelids shut, effectively blocking out the world, and slipped into the land of dreams.

And the dream she was thrust into made her wish she would never wake up.

_Lovino studied _his_ surroundings curiously, wondering where the hell he was. All he knew at that moment was that it was pleasant and warm. He glanced down to find that he was a man once again, much to his relief, and tugged happily at his pants. The Italian was crossed-legged in the middle of a gorgeous, flowering meadow. The beautiful sea of colors that enveloped him seemed to stretch for miles. Various shades of gold, viridian, crimson, violet, azure, magenta, and even hues that the man couldn't stick a name to all coexisted to form a wondrous example of the perfection in nature._

_Romano sighed in blissful contentment as he laid back and sprawled out in the field of flowers. As he allowed his eyelids to shield his irises from the loving sun, a loud and accented voice rang out across the meadow. It was calling out something that sounded a hell of a lot like his name. To the brunette's astonishment, he was not at all bothered by the noise. In fact, he embraced it with open arms. And I mean that literally. _

_Lovi sprung up from his position on the grass and bolted in the direction the sound originated form. He had no clue why his body did that, it was acting completely on its own, but when he laid eyes upon the source of the voice, he melted._

_It was Arthur Kirkland. Who had a hopelessly—and somehow adorably—goofy grin plastered onto his handsome features._

_The sight of the Brit only made the Italian happier as he sped up in order to reach the blonde faster. When he got near enough, the brunette smiled widely and tackled the other man. This sent the merrily laughing pair rolling down a flower-covered hill that hadn't been there before. _

_The duo soon tumbled down to the bottom of the hill, giggling joyously all the way, and landed in a rather compromising position. England was directly above Romano, teetering precariously on his knees and palms, their noses not even an inch apart. This only resulted in a lovingly smiling brunette and adoringly grinning blonde. Then Lovi astounded even himself with his next movement. He pushed himself up onto his elbows and ensnared Arthur's lips with his own in a fiery and passionate kiss._

_To Lovino's immense pleasure, the other man did not pull away in the expected disgust. Rather, the magician had kissed him back almost instantly, using Lovi's momentary hesitation as leverage to slip his tongue into the mix. _

_Romano was in heaven. Pure and simple. He had a gorgeous, amazing, wonderful man above him. He felt like he had died—apparently he had done something good in his life—and was making out with an angel. He opened his eyes, to be sure that he was in some form if reality, and met the lust-clouded emerald eyes that were attached to England's body. Sure, the island was wearing a white tunic that wasn't the green military outfit he had been in when the brunette first closed his eyes, but that didn't matter. It was _his_ Arthur on top of him. Not anyone else. And deep down..._

_He didn't want anyone else._

"Love? Wake up. Everyone else has already left," a soft voice cooed as the man beneath Lovino's now-curvy form wiggled a tad in order to rouse the girl.

The brunette cracked her amber eyes open and groaned in protest as sunlight poured into her sleep-blurred irises. England chuckled contentedly and tousled the female's auburn hair playfully.

"At least get your lazy rump up. I'll carry you to the car if need be, but at least get your heavy arse off of me," the blonde man informed her, but he had no real hostility in his deep voice. He held only puzzling fondness for the woman.

The Italian smiled happily and stood up, rubbing at her eyes with a lightly tanned fist. She yawned widely, "It's okay. I can at least walk by my damn self." She also spoke with nothing even remotely resembling scorn.

Romano smirked, reaching out a tanned hand to help her boyfriend to his feet, and half-dragged him to the car. He chuckled lightly as he held the door to the passenger side open. Lovi grinned and hopped into the seat, sticking her tongue out at the blonde man. He frowned, somehow playfully, and slammed the door shut; almost catching the girl's foot.

The brunette pouted and then proceeded to bitch incessantly about her 'almost cut off leg'.

Arthur ignored the girl and shoved the car key into the awaiting ignition, the motor roaring to life. Since the meeting had luckily been in the United Kingdom, the pair did not have to spend the night at a hotel or anything of the sort. They were glad to return to the blonde man's house.


	5. Mo' Aubin, Mo' Food Sickness

**A/N Read the disclaimer! …And the P.S.**

**P.S. So, yes, the title has been changed. I apologize for any confusion this may have caused! I just realized that the more chapters I plan out, the farther is strays from the original concept. So a new title was in order. It's no longer "****The Epic Tale of Girl Romano", now it's "You Can't Spell Love Without Crazy" which is a play on words. Yes, technically, you spell love without any of the letters in 'crazy' but that's why it's cute.**

**DISCALIMER**: I own nothing! I technically own the plot, but I doubt I'm the first one with the idea. I've never seen anything like this, but I'm sure it's been done.

**WARNING**: Weird pairing, Guyxguy nonsense, language, OOC-ness, and crack!

**PAIRINGS**: EnglandxRomano, mentions of AustriaxHungary, and various

**SLANG/TRANSLATIONS: **_(Brits seem to be arseholes with how many insults they use in a single conversation xD)_ "Arsehole" – asshole [British]

"Bitch-bag" – term for male genitalia [Irish]

"West Brit" – someone who is either really British or is a big fan of everything British [Irish]

"Yapping" – talking [British]

"Feckin'" – another word for 'fucking' [Irish]

"Eejit" – it means idiot in a way that makes fun of the way Irish people pronounce 'idiot' [British]

"Flah" – a very attractive person [Irish]

"Ask me arse" – a way of saying shut up [Irish]

"Bloody dosser" – equivalent of 'freaking layabout' [Irish]

**RomanoxEngland: You Can't Spell Love Without Crazy Chapter: 5 Mo' Aubin, Mo' Food Sickness**

_**Sunday, August 28, 2011 9:37 AM: England's house**_

The next morning, the pair ate a delicious breakfast as Aubin sang French folk songs and pranced about the kitchen.

"This is good, Aubin! What's in it?" Lovino inquired the goateed man unusually cheerfully.

The brunette grinned, "Eet's an omelet! So eet 'as eggs, cheese, mushrooms, steak, and bacon! Ees amazing, non?"

"It's great! I'm very glad I hired you!" Arthur chirped joyously in a very out-of-character way as he dug into his firm breakfast.

The trio laughed merrily as the couple chomped down on the food.

Romano was genuinely happy in the room. She would be perfectly fine just staying in that state of being for the rest of her life. But, due to the fact that Lady Luck hates her guts, the Italian's happiness did not last much longer...

"Oh, bollocks!" England swore loudly when his lovely girlfriend collapsed in front of the bathroom door. The blonde rushed over to her, with some difficulty due to the narrowness of the hall, and lifted her into his arms. "AUBIN! MELODY! BEAGAN! SOMEONE! HELP!" he shrieked loudly when the brunette cradled in his arms passed out completely. His brain fried and went into all-out panic mode.

Beagan—Arthur's younger, Irish, and more handsome butler—arrived on the scene first. "Oh, bitch-bag! What'd ya do, ya West Brit?" the pissed-off redhead demanded rudely of his employer.

"Oh quit your yapping!" the owner of the house snapped irritably. "But I'm so damn glad you're here, Beagan, you eejit! You're always claiming to be the 'best feckin' butler to come out of me homeland 'o Ireland' so you better prove it and do something!"

The redhead mumbled 'ask me arse' but shook his head anyway, merely hefting the unconscious woman into his lightly tanned arms. "What room is thi' lil flah stayin' in?"

"Follow me."

The blonde man swiftly tore down the hall as his servant tracked behind him.

When the two men and the one unconscious woman reached the destination, England practically kicked the door down and burst into the room. The redhead entered after his employer, whilst muttering something along the lines of: 'Arthur ya bloody dosser'. The Irishman knew he would be the once made to repair that slab of wood.

After an almost too-thorough medical examination courtesy of Beagan, Lovino was deemed food-poisoned. Beagan knew full well that she only needed to sleep for a few hours—the steak had only been slightly undercooked, after all—but he didn't inform England of this seemingly necessary tidbit of knowledge. The Master was like a bug; so easy to screw with.

After over two hours and three blood-rages, Arthur was finally allowed to go see his girlfriend.

The blonde man eased the wooden door open, smiling lovingly as the light sifting in from the hall illuminated the snoozing female's face.

The girl moaned and flipped over, cradling the ivory sheets even closer to her voluptuous frame as she became vaguely aware of the abrupt light change.

England chuckled and knelt down beside the feverish Italian. The longer he rested there, staring adoringly at the girl, the more worried the thoughts prancing around in his head became.

He sighed forlornly. The man truly wished the stricken nation would recover from her surprising sickness. He had grown so attached in such a short time. Hell, three days ago, the pair hadn't said more than a few words to each other over hundreds of years. Now they feel closer to each other than they've ever felt with anyone.

The blonde stood, then sauntered over to the maple nightstand as he sighed. He dipped a small towel into a silver pan already brimming with cool water. He soaked the cloth square, wringing out the excess liquid once satisfied.

He pressed the crisp—now folded—towel onto his girlfriend's heated forehead whilst ineffectually attempting to coo her food poisoning away. She groaned, wriggling a tad in her sleep like a drunken worm. Her boyfriend grimaced as Lovi writhed in apparent agony as dream beasts plagued her tormented slumber. The Englishman grasped the previously feisty Italian's hand to chase the demons away.

:-:-:

_**Monday, August 29, 2011 2:26 AM: England's House**_

When Lovino regained consciousness, all she could see was darkness. She yelped and began to hyperventilate as she tried to make sense of her blind state. It took the poor, delirious girl over ten minutes to come to the conclusion that _her eyes were closed_. Once she rounded up enough brains to open her eyes, she finally started to take in her surroundings.

She was in her bedroom, nestled between the sheets, sweating like a pig in Borneo. Which is to say, she was sweating boatloads. Because Borneo is hot. And humid. Yeah.

It was at that moment the brunette took notice of the soundly snoring Brit with his blonde head resting heavily on the side of her bed.

She smiled despite herself and extended a sticky hand to ruffle the man's locks affectionately. A heavy blush adorned the female's now-rounded face as she felt an unfamiliar fuzziness bloom throughout her body; the epicenter being the fingertips of hers grazing along the heated skull of the unconscious man.

Arthur purred in his slumber as his wonderful girlfriend laced her tanned fingers into his silky hair. He had drifted to sleep mere minutes before the girl's insolent fever had broken and she had snapped back into the cool clutches of reality.

Romano chuckled—though it was more of a giggle—and utilized all of her feminine bodily muscle power to heave the snoozing Englishman onto the sheets-clad mattress.

The Italian then managed to entomb the pair in the soft linen bed wrappings, the magician practically out cold. Another dusting of red coated her cheeks and she smiled as she snuggled up against his warm body—snaking her petite limbs around his astoundingly broad back and chiseled chest.

'Hmn… This feels nice...' Lovi thought sleepily as she nuzzled into the viridian military getup—apparently the man had showered and changed before nodding off—and let her recently-cleared mind wander. 'This feels so great… Even better then when I cuddled with Spain… Hmn… England is- Wait. Why am I cuddling England in a bed?' Amber eyes shot open when their owner's musings stumbled upon the fact that she was rubbing against Britain under the covers of her bed. The female nation's body, however, remained motionless in a subconscious attempt to not rouse the Englishman.

In retrospect, Romano should not have been as alarmed as she momentarily was.

She herself realized this and unclenched her muscles as she drifted into a warm and incredibly erotic dream…


	6. Shine On, You Crazy Horny Romano

**A/N Damn it, that was terrible!**

**DISCALIMER**: I own nothing! I technically own the plot, but I doubt I'm the first one with the idea. I've never seen anything like this, but I'm sure it's been done.

**WARNING**: Weird pairing, Guyxguy nonsense, language, OOC-ness, and crack! **THIS CHAPTER HAS EXPLICIT DREAM-YAOI-SEX! :D IF YOU DO NOT WANT A YUMMY GUY-ON-GUY LEMON, SKIP ALL ITALICS. But I would suggest getting used to the sex scenes—there are many more to come. (xD I'm punny.)**

**PAIRINGS**: EnglandxRomano, mentions of AustriaxHungary, and various

**SLANG/TRANSLATIONS: **"Happy trail" – the line of pubic hair than runs from the navel to the base of the penis [I think this is American but I dunno]

"Uke" – the one on the bottom AKA the one that has the other man's member in his rear. [Japanese]

"Seme" – the one on top AKA the one whose member is in the other's rear. [Japanese]

"Blooming" – a less explicit version of "bloody" [British]

"Morning wood" – when you wake up with an erection [American]

"Todger" – penis [British]

**You Can't Spell Love Without Crazy Chapter: 6 Shine on, You Crazy Horny Romano**

_**Monday, August 29, 2011 2:53 AM: England's House (Italics are Romano's dream)**_

_Lovino Vargas's cheeks flared up to a deep crimson as a certain British tongue ran across them in an bawdy manner, just barely missing the man's lips._

"_Oh c'mon, Romano," Arthur Kirkland purred as his lips ghosted over the other's ear sensually. "Just let go. I can make you feel bliss like you've never felt before."_

_The huskiness in the blonde man's voice made Romano figuratively melt and he wrapped his sun-kissed arms around the rather broad shoulders of his potential lover. The Englishman grinned a feral and lust-filled grin as he pushed the other nation down onto the soft bed that had somehow manifested there mere seconds beforehand._

_The duo's lips met in a maelstrom of passion and heat. If they had been standing, at least one of them would have been knocked over by the raw emotions swirling through the soul-sucking lip-lock._

_Then, after a blinding flash of seemingly stellar light, the pair was stark-naked and somehow remained in the same position._

_England wiggled his tongue seductively against Lovi's lower lip as his gleaming emerald eyes practically begged the brunette to grant him access. Once inside, the magician's appendage swirled around the Italian's moist cavern of a mouth, evicting a wanton moan from the current uke._

_The blonde nation grinded his hips against the Mediterranean nation's, extracting another lewd sound from the blushing man's swollen pink lips._

_Romano then decided he wished to be the dominant one, deftly flipping the pair over in an astounding show of brawn. When their lips met again, it was Lovino this time that shoved his muscle down the other's all-too-inviting throat._

_The feisty half of Italy disconnected their lips and moved his set to the Englishman's delicious pale neck, kissing and nipping as the other writhed in pleasure beneath him._

_England wriggled in near-ecstasy as the other nation kissed, licked, and nipped down his finely carved torso, inching closer and closer to the magician's throbbing erection. The sarcastic Italian smirked up at his prospective lover as he ran his capable tongue teasingly down the golden 'happy trail'. Gazing deeply into the pleading viridian eyes, Lovi relented and wrapped his slightly chapped lips around the other man's crimson hard-on._

_He sucked lightly, reveling in the beauty of the astonishingly wanton moans practically cascading from the Brit's silky lips. He then licked along the bottom of the shaft, bobbing his head back and swirling the tip mockingly. Romano repeated this action a few times, then deep-throated Britain and nuzzled his nose into the flaxen curls flowering from the base of the member in his mouth._

"_L-Lovino…" Arthur managed to splutter huskily as he panted heavily, threading his fingers through the auburn locks of South Italy. He then utilized his vice-grip on the other's hair to yank the tanned face up to his own pale one. "I n-need you… Inside m-m-me…" To emphasize his lust, the magician reached down between his own legs and used two of his elegant fingers to spread his somehow virgin entrance open to Lovi's greedy eyes. The brunette's raging boner practically exploded when he saw the blonde's pleading, hazy, erotic, and downright horny glazed-over expression._

_The Italian growled with a furious passion and roughly twisted the magician so the blonde was on his stomach. Romano groaned with desire as he pressed his sculpted chest tightly against the wiry back of the smaller nation, waving a sun-kissed hand in front of the uke's huffing and puffy lips, "You know what to do."_

_And damn did that man know what to do._

_England skillfully used his playful tongue to draw four of the fingers into his mouth, drenching them in saliva as he gracefully—yet excruciatingly sexily—maneuvered his appendage between the other man's tanned digits._

_Once they were coated to his satisfaction, Lovino removed his fingers from the Englishman's 'yap' with a pop. He slid back a tad, his chin resting soundly between smooth shoulder blades, and prodded the blonde's entrance experimentally with a single finger._

_He then slid it in extremely cautiously, not wanting to hurt his precious Brit. Both seem to be virgins, after all._

_The brunette chuckled lovingly as the blonde mewled pathetically beneath him, "Oh, you dirty slut. You love this, don't you? Do you want more?"_

_When the other nation nodded lustfully and waggled his rear to underscore his desire, the devious seme groaned with need and ruthlessly jabbed the other two moist digits into the tight entrance splayed before him. The uke almost choked with the sudden fullness; apparently he's one horny virgin._ Eh, well, dreams don't have to make sense. So sue me. Now back to italics.

_Romano scissored his fingers roughly as he prepared Arthur for his almost comically massive dick._

_After getting the "go ahead" from the magician, the Italian removed his fingers and swiftly replaced it with his aching erection. He paused, allowing the squirming Englishman to adjust to the hugeness of Lovi's boner._

_Lovino used this time to reflect. Here he was, atop the one person he felt truly comfortable with, and about to fuck his brains out. The whole situation didn't make much sense. But then again, his cerebrum seemed to be malfunctioning anyway, so it didn't matter much._

_The brunette moaned as the blonde slid his rear back, impaling himself completely, and began moving his smaller body back and forth on the enormous member residing in his rump._

_The seme took this as the "A-OK" to thrust, and by the gods did he oblige to do just that. He pounded harshly into the lithe form beneath him and struck the prostate dead-on with his first attempt._

_Stars exploded behind Arthur's eyes as his sweet spot was assaulted with dazzling accuracy. He screamed Lovino's name as his special gland was slammed into repeatedly, the white-hot pleasure more intense with every thrust. England turned his head and their lips locked once again, the passion this move conjured making the Brit pleasantly light-headed. He could feel his innards coiling up as he neared his climax, the ecstasy almost too much for his wiry body to handle._

_As the brunette approached his inevitable ejaculation, he groaned lustfully and multiplied his thrust rate ten-fold._

_The Italian snaked a tanned hand to wrap around the blonde's aching manhood and roughly worked him to completion._

"_L-Lovino!" the uke choked out as he spurted his seed all over the burgundy bed spread._

_When then tight entrance clamped down around his erection, Lovi lost all of his honor and—_

"**WHAT THE BLOOMING HELL IS HAPPENING**?" a shrill voice shrieked right into Lovino's ears, violently shoving her back into reality. And she was having such a nice dream, too. Luckily morning wood isn't an obstacle for her.

The female gazed up at the object of her recently-discovered affections, "What the fuck's wrong with you, bastard?"

The discombobulated blonde gazed down as his girlfriend and unclenched his muscles, sighing in relief. "Oh, sorry. I woke up with someone's hand down my trousers and I sort of 'flipped'. I apologize, but you could you maybe remove your hand from my todger?"

The Italian blushed bright red and immediately released her vice-grip on the man's penis, swiftly extracting her tanned hand from his boxers. Her embarrassment seriously knows no bounds.

She glared somehow apologetically at the Englishman as he mumbled assorted curses under his tea-stained breath. She merely observed as his facial expressions flowed from one to another, his emotions betraying him as they prominently shone through his cracked mask in a spontaneous pattern.

When the man finally calmed down, he tentatively surrendered and encircled his arms around his girlfriend. He nuzzled into her cherry-blossom-scented hair, his favorite, as he allowed his eyelids to slide shut once again. Quickly asleep, he unconsciously flexed and pressed the female closer to his warmth-emanating side.

Romano smirked successfully to herself and snuggled cutely into the Brit.

But the man was just a furnace. Nothing more. She was only cuddling with him so she didn't freeze on that cooler-than-normal night. There were no emotions other than survival, right? No, there couldn't be. Of course not. Who would fall for such a person? And a man, nonetheless? How absurd. Lovi likes women. Not sexy Englishmen.

She clutched at the blonde's shirt as a maelstrom of doubt, hope, anxiety, denial, love, and despair tore ruthlessly through her mind.

Doubt about herself and her emotions. Hope that the Brit may like her back. Anxiety that she may possibly end up hurt beyond repair. Denial that she has anything more than a vague feeling of friendship for him. Love for the man she does not want nor need to love. Despair that her world could come crashing down around her broken heart.

This isn't good. This can't be good. No one should ever be able to cause her to feel this much. Nobody has the right.

A daunting brain wave struck Lovino as she sorted through her entangled web of emotions and thoughts. Isn't this what Antonio had explained love to be? That night all those years ago when Spain had given Lovi the "talk". He described lust, then love…

He had told her love was something that made you feel so much your head spun. That despite how much hurt you endure because of this person, you still never want to let them go.

She was told that love is sweetest pain of all.

Something that can make you smile no matter what is happening. Something that keeps you going every day. Something you never want to leave. Something that has no reason, but is a reason within itself.

'Is this love…?'


	7. Final Damnedstination

**A/N Aw, yeah! Words and shit!**

**DISCLAIMER**: I own nothing! I technically own the plot, but I doubt I'm the first one with the idea. I've never seen anything like this, but I'm sure it's been done.

**WARNING**: Weird pairing, Guyxguy nonsense, language, OOC-ness, and crack!

**PAIRINGS**: EnglandxRomano, AubinxEdmund, mentions of AustriaxHungary, and various

**SLANG/TRANSLATIONS: "**A'ight" – it's just Beagan saying "alright"

"'ight" – Beagan saying "right" (accents are hard 3)

"Dope" – idiot, fool [Irish and British]

"Getting your hole" – having sex [Irish] (Very vulgar and not usually used in public)

"Caffler" – idiot, moron [Irish]

"Oui" – yes [French]

"Fratello" – brother [Italian]

"Snog" – to kiss using tongue [British] (AKA French Kissing)

**You Can't Spell Love Without Crazy Chapter: 7 Final Damnedstination **

_**Monday, August 29, 2011 9:27 AM: England's House; Master Bedroom**_

Lovino Vargas awoke with a start when a pair of warm, moist lips enclosed her own. Her amber eyes shot open and locked with a pair of emerald irises.

"Oh? Did I wake you up, Milady? My humblest apologies."

Devious viridian twinkled mischievously as the pale face hovering above the girl smirked. Kicking a day off by teasing and cuddling with his girlfriend was nearly ideal for Arthur Kirkland—but, sadly, Lovi was not a man again quite yet.

The female blushed, growled, and smiled at the magician, in that order. The male laughed lightly at the Italian's little show and wrapped his pale arms around her lithe frame. He curled her into his wiry chest and nuzzled his angular nose into her auburn hair.

The Englishman silently thanked 'sweet Protestant God' happily as his favorite aroma emanated from his partner's locks and wafted into his abused nostrils. Cherry Blossoms are his secret dirty pleasure.

Neither of the nations was fully aware of their encrypted feelings for the other, but they felt comfortable enough around each other to discover together.

As the duo cuddled in their happy little world, chaos erupted elsewhere in the halls of the Kirkland Household.

:-:-:

_**Monday, August 29, 2011 9:27 AM: England's House; What's Left of the Kitchen**_

A shrieked stream of Irish vulgarity echoed down the ancient corridors of England's home; barely stopping short of the Master's private rooms.

Beagan was pissed. Beyond pissed, actually. He was absolutely infuriated.

Aubin had severely fucked up this time. Worse than the other twelve dilemmas that had arrived with the brunette. Much worse than the oven fire, the food poisoning, the peanut butter incident, and the other fiascos since the Frenchman was recruited.

The dumbass had blown up the kitchen. I mean this literally. Seriously—there is a goddamned swallow perched nonchalantly on the redhead's cranium. _There is no longer a roof._

Alas, the man responsible for the household's current lack of a kitchen was trying to apologize to the livid Irishman by groveling at his feet. He knew full well what he had gotten his cute ass into this time.

Honestly, it wasn't entirely Aubin's fault.

Edmund—you know you remember this sexy bastard from the first chapter—was also due to be censured. He was just required to wait his turn. After all, hell hath no fury like a ginger scorned.

Beagan sighed as his inner volcano cooled off. "A'ight. Let me get me story straight 'ere. Aubin put a tin-foil'd turkey in the bloody _microwave_?" He received two embarrassed nods. "'ight. An' that was because you two dopes were too busy gettin' ya hole ta pay a damn ounce o' attention?" More silent confirmation. "Cafflers… An' now we dun have a bloody kitchen 'cause 'a you two?" A mumbled slur of 'yes' and 'oui'.

"Bloody fuckin' brilliant."

There were no words. The young butler was beyond words.

They no longer had a kitchen because two energetic employees were much too occupied having wild, passionate sex in the mashed potatoes. The morons didn't think twice about how they were putting TIN-FOIL in the MICROWAVE.

C'mon, _everyone _knows that tin-foil explodes in that goddamned machine.

Even the boss—_FUCK_.

"W…what are we going to tell Master Arthur?" Edmund voiced the daunting thought rebounding around all three servants' minds.

:-:-:

_**Monday, August 29, 2011 1:58 PM: England's House; Moving Target**_

"No! YOUR foot is dumb!" Romano wailed childishly as she stormed out of England's bedroom and stomped down the hall.

The twosome had been bickering—about only God knows what—and the female half had had enough. She was kind of losing, so she did the true Italian thing and fled the scene. Feliciano would be proud.

Thoughts of her fratello sent a sharp pang of sadness through the brunette. She astonishingly missed her brother's silly antics and easygoing nature. Never thought that would happen.

After swallowing her minute levels of grief, the female's train of thought then arrived at its favorite station: Hungrytown.

Don't look at me like that.

So, yeah. Lovino was hungry, if my clever joke went over your head.

The brunette's subconscious allowed her feet to travel to the kitchen; it was her favorite room in the entire household. She trudged on until she reached what remained of the sturdy wooden door—charred hinges and a collapsing doorframe.

Amber eyes widened as Lovino absorbed the state of the once-quaint area.

"C-CHIGI!"

:-:-:

_**Monday, August 29, 2011 7:26 PM: England's House; Ruins of the Kitchen**_

"Alright, boys, that's good. What did this teach you?" England attempted to stifle his cocky guffaws as he posed his servants. He truly did have too much fun fucking around with people.

Beagan, clad in a beautiful viridian evening gown to complement his hair, growled as menacingly as a man in a dress could. He was beyond pissed for the second time that day. That must be a record or something.

Lovino loved the servants' punishment.

Forcing them to wear dresses and then snapping pictures for blackmail? Oh, Melody, you are a genius.

Aubin, unlike the Irish butler, was secretly thrilled to be in his lovely and flowery pink tunic. He willingly struck scandalous poses as the Master of the house gleefully followed and clicked away with his camera.

Edmund was horrified. Absolutely horrified. The other two got beautiful outfits that made them seem to sparkle whilst sad little Edmund was clad in what appeared to be an uglier-than-ugly curtain. It was puke-green and bunched up in awkward places to the extent that it didn't even remotely resemble a dress. Someone sure got the short end of the stick, eh?

The magician was calling out commands as his cute girlfriend hopped around, taking hundreds of pictures of the embarrassed men.

Melody was very, very proud of this plan. Her yaoi-fangirl mind was usually never stimulated in such a real way, so this was a real treat for her. She rarely got to see Hungary—a rather close friend of hers—and therefore rarely got her fix of yaoi fanservice. After all, Prussia typically tagged along for the visits and Prussia is _walking _fanservice.

:-:-:

_**Monday, August 29, 2011 11:16 PM: England's House; Master Bedroom**_

Once all the people in the house were settled in, Lovino and Arthur cuddled up in the latter's king bed.

Ah, the wonders of young… love, is it?


	8. We Interrupt This Broadcast

**A/N I'm gonna go take a bath with this plugged in toaster!**

**DISCLAIMER**: I own nothing! I technically own the plot, but I doubt I'm the first one with the idea. I've never seen anything like this, but I'm sure it's been done.

**WARNING**: Weird pairing, Guyxguy nonsense, language, OOC-ness, and crack!

**PAIRINGS**: EnglandxRomano, AubinxEdmund, BeaganxSpain, mentions of AustriaxHungary, and various

**SLANG/TRANSLATIONS: **"Oye" – hey [Spanish]

"Soy Antonio Fernandez Carriedo. O Spain!" – I am Antonio Fernandez Carriedo. Or Spain! [Spanish]

**You Can't Spell Love Without Crazy Chapter: 8 We Interrupt This Broadcast**

_**Tuesday, August 30, 2011 6:12 AM: England's House**_

Furious pounds resounded throughout England's glorious abode as a daft Spaniard knocked on the enormous front door with all his tanned might.

He was in a stupor. A drunken stupor. Prussia and France had somehow managed to flood his weak system with vodka, wine, and tequila, and his cloudy mind only had one objective: find and rescue Romano.

Honestly, it was all Gilbert's fault. He cajoled Francis in to becoming an accomplice in his master plan—to cause as much trouble as possible. Part one of that magical plot was to get their Spanish buddy drunk off his ass and then tell him that his beloved Lovino was kidnapped by an evil king. Specifically an _English_ king.

Yes, the more troublesome thirds of the Bad Touch Trio figured out who Lovi, or 'Diana', was. It happened almost instantaneously, actually.

The awesome Prussia had been creeping under the table at the meeting and thought he recognized Romano's legs intertwined with England's. This was odd, of course, because the Italian was supposedly absent. The albino easily put two and two together and understood the basic situation utilizing his general knowledge of Arthur's Black Magic skills.

France had noticed after a few minutes of harmless flirting with Lovino. The way 'Diana' reacted was identical to one person and one person only; Lovi. Then there was that fact that the now-female South Italy was cuddling nonchalantly with Britain. There was only one possible explanation for that.

Both Gilbert and Francis are cleverer—and more devious as well—than they come off to be. Unfortunately, the same cannot be said for Spain.

The pitiable and confused brunette beating up the Kirkland house tossed in a hearty kick for good measure, but only ended up nearly knocking himself off the wooden porch.

Beagan, the only resident of the house who was fully functioning at such an early time, strolled over to the slab of ancient wood and swung it open with ease. He raised a ginger eyebrow at the incredibly handsome man that was almost sparkling on the front porch.

But Spain had no time for chit-chat and roughly shoved past the Irishman in an almost delirious daze, spouting nonsense about a diabolical British King that had taken away his princess.

The butler, however, takes shit from no one.

He Chuck Norris-kicked the brunette square in the back, sending the Latino spiraling toward the hard ground. The nation made contact with a sickening 'THUMP' and a helpless whimper.

Pangs of guilt and regret ruthlessly stabbed at the redhead's conscience as a small pool of blood began to take shape around the unconscious nation's milk chocolate locks.

'Aw, fine. I'll bloody help 'im…'

:-:-:

_**Tuesday, August 30, 2011 9:48 AM: England's House; Beagan's Bedroom**_

Antonio Fernandez Carriedo whined childishly as the covers were wrenched off the bed he was in. He blindly groped around, in a weak attempt to locate the warm fabric, but ended up wrapping a sun-kissed hand around something of an entirely different sort.

Hazel eyes widened beyond any human belief as their owner sprung back a meter, recoiling from sudden limb-to-dick contact. Beagan's manhood is rarely, if ever, put to good use. He's… a tad rusty.

Spain, being the daft and still-intoxicated bastard he is, chuckled drunkenly at the handsome butler. "Aw, that was c-cute! You kick like Chuck Norris b-but you're…" A hiccup interrupted his nonsense if just for a moment. "Actually r-really girly~!"

With that, the fiery Irishman absolutely lost what tiny amount of temper he had. He lurched forward and thrust his clenched fist into a sun-kissed jaw.

The force of the impact sent the Spaniard across the bedroom at an alarming rate.

A silky auburn head made it to the incredibly solid wall with the second sickening sound of the day.

The redhead sighed and ambled over to the once again unconscious country. He hefted the brunette into his muscular arms—bridal style, if I may add—and trudged over to the light green bed. He gently laid the knocked-out nation on the plush comforter.

The country's nose was bleeding once again, so the butler rolled up more tissues to block the nostrils with.

Beagan dragged his desk chair with three stuck wheels over to the bedside and plopped down, his striking hazel irises focused intently on the man sprawled out on the sheets. He felt he had to be there for the idiot. He was the reason behind the other's injuries, after all.

When the woozy Spaniard groggily sat up in the foreign room, his head began to spin ruthlessly. His brain throbbed incessantly as the sunlight pouring in through the gargantuan window seared his sensitive eyes.

As his mind wandered—in a very pathetic attempt at recalling the events since Prussia handed him a tequila shot—he was severely startled by a sudden whimper. A pounding viridian gaze swiftly scanned the area and instantly locked on the culprit; the slumped over form in the rolling chair.

The dozing man was halfway on the bed with his torso across the Latino's legs and the remaining part was curled up on the plushy seat. No matter how muscular, badass, scarred, and powerful this black-clad person was, he still appeared an innocent cherub in sleep. An orange angel in any mind; hung-over or otherwise.

Antonio's emerald eyes absorbed the very essence of the Irishman splayed out before his greedy eyes. The butler was indeed a beautiful contradiction. Even in the hazy thoughts of a dense Spaniard.

England's most trustworthy employee was indeed very handsome. He has that kind of rugged charm that can woo even the straightest man and the most homosexual woman. He has curly, untamed locks of a blazing inferno for hair, hazel irises with specks of enticing gold, trunk-like muscles that ripple when put to work, and… well… horrible teeth.

The servant was also reliable. Much more reliable than any of the others. But, of course, there is a deadly catch when he is left in charge. His temper. Or, should I say, lack thereof.

No matter how responsible, a fuse that can be set off by breathing too loudly is a serious setback for a butler of such a high caliber.

Beagan is a complicated man. His violent badassness when facing obstacles is really impressive, but you put him in the same room with a puppy and you've got yourself a giant blubbering fluffball.

The only description Spain could fathom for this enigma on top of him was 'cute'.

:-:-:

_**Tuesday, August 30, 2011 2:43 PM: England's House; Ruins of the Once-Great Kitchen**_

Luckily, for the purposes of a blooming love, England and Romano were to be out and about the entirety of the 30th. The charming duo had a complete kitchen to refurbish. That would definitely occupy them for the day.

So, with a wonderful stroke of momentary genius, Began decided to put the gorgeous moron to good use. The brunette and the redhead had come to an agreement—if the tanned man assisted the other for the day, the butler was to refrain from any more physical beatings. It suited both of their situations. The Irishman required help with the removal of rubbish from the Kitchen Ruins and the Spaniard was bored out of his mind and still a bit hung-over.

Too much strong alcohol for such a pathetic system.

But Spain was definitely glad to be of help nonetheless.

"Oye! Where should I put all the rocks?" the brunette called out to the muscular butler as he pointed to a chunk of stone that was once part of the fireplace.

The servant glanced up at the other man with a hefty sigh, "O'er there." He nodded his head in the direction of a mountain of rubble. The assistance he acquired was proving to be more work than he's worth.

The nation just grinned and lugged the hunk of stone over to the pile and tossed it in with an impressive exhibition of strength.

The duo toiled in peaceful and easy conversation, chucking bits of various substances into the ever-growing hill of rubbish.

The sun ruthlessly beat down on the twosome as they continued piling the garbage.

When they finally finished the daunting task, the entire area that was once a glorious kitchen was just dirt. They cleared up the spread-out rocks, destroyed what was left of the walls, sledged-hammered the tiles until they cracked and could be removed, ripped apart the door frame, and set aside the appliances.

It was probably the most manual labor either of them had ever done. Ever.

Once Beagan rang up _We Clear Junk _and set up a pick-up time for the rubble and appliances, the brunette and the redhead deemed it relaxation time.

"So, uh, dumbass. Ya name 'is…?" Began inquired the other man thoughtfully, just now realizing that he had no clue what his name was.

The Spaniard laughed, "Soy Antonio Fernandez Carriedo. O Spain!" His hangover was long gone after the hours of aching work.

The Irishman's mind went blank when he heard the Latino's sexy purr. His incredulous hazel gaze analyzed the glistening nation, his mind recalling all England had described Spain to be.

"_Spain, that wanker!" Arthur Kirkland growled as he slammed his scarred hand down on the wooden table in the kitchen. He had just returned from another World Meeting and the Latino had somehow managed to royally piss him off this time._

_Beagan, the newest addition to the Master's home, was startled by this sudden outburst from the usually tranquil blonde. So he inquired what was ailing the nation, his obvious ignorance causing the other servants in the vicinity to facepalm._

_When he was asked such an inquiry, the country was off. _

"_Well… Spain is one of my arch-enemies. He may not be my nemesis—that would be France—but he's been my biggest threat since the dawn of my long life. He is evil, conniving, cunning, daft, blood-thirsty, stubborn, malevolent, crude, heartless, cruel… And many other things that are currently escaping me._

_He thinks he's almighty, but I've brought him down plenty of times. He's a cruel and terrible man, Beagan. Stay away from that dago at all costs. If he senses any kind of opening for assault, he will very well take advantage of any opportunity you give him!_

_He is a bad person. A bad nation. A bad being…."_

No way. No way in hell was this stupid and beautiful creature in front of the butler the Spain that England had described.

The Irishman shook his head and introduced himself as well.


	9. Dirty Cleaning

**A/N Quit sittin' near me!**

**DISCLAIMER**: I own nothing! I technically own the plot, but I doubt I'm the first one with the idea. I've never seen anything like this, but I'm sure it's been done.

**WARNING**: Weird pairing, Guyxguy nonsense, language, OOC-ness, and crack!

**PAIRINGS**: EnglandxRomano, BeaganxSpain, mentions of AustriaxHungary, and various

**SLANG/TRANSLATIONS:** "Onsen" – a Japanese-style hot spring [Japanese]

"Lo siento!" – I'm sorry [Spanish]

"Tú eres muy guapo." – You are very handsome. {Informal} [Spanish]

"Mano a mano." – Technically means "hand to hand", and is used to express direct competition between two people. In this case, it defines their relationship in a really awesome way. [Spanish]

"Te amo." – I love you. {Informal} [Spanish]

**You Can't Spell Love Without Crazy Chapter: 9 Dirty Cleaning**

_**Tuesday, August 30, 2011 5:45 PM: England's House; The Servant's Bathroom**_

Beagan closed his eyes as he silently thanked any kind of deity that existed that there was not a single other soul in the house beside himself and Antonio.

Melody was out with Hungary and Japan, Aubin had taken Edmund to an Onsen for the week, and England and Romano were still hitting the stores.

How he had gotten himself into such a situation, the butler will never know.

One minute they were shirtlessly chatting about skin tones whilst cooling off, the next they were here.

And what a predicament "here" was. A wet, steamy, cramped, and hot "here".

"Beagan?" A heavily accented voice called out, interrupting the man's musings. "You okay? Want me to wash your back~?" His playful and vaguely lustful tone snapped the redhead into reality.

The duo was in the shower together. Both completely in the nude.

And the Irishman felt no anger or irritation, just fuzziness in his toes, fingers, and head. His heart skipped virtually every other beat and his labored breathing quickened its pace. It was a completely new feeling.

He nodded and spun around so that his broad, muscular back was facing the shorter man. His countenance flushed crimson when he felt calloused hands run across his back and lather it with a delicate aroma and suds. The marble skin was explored thoroughly as a chocolate brown head plopped down between his burly shoulder blades. When the tanned limbs dipped down to caress his pale rear, a rather unmanly yelp escaped the human's throat as he sprung away.

The country chuckled lightly as the other man turned around once again to face him. The redhead glared down pointedly at Spain and he blushed darkly, his body betraying his conscious mind. Bad face, don't let others know of true feelings!

"Lo siento! I couldn't help it! Tú eres muy guapo."

An incredulous and somewhat skeptical orange eyebrow was raised at that comment. "Ya t'ink so?"

The only form of reply the taller man received was a pair of warm lips brushing against his own. Hazel eyes bore into emerald as both contemplated what should occur next. An instantaneous decision was made in the next second.

Beagan leaned down and ensnared Antonio's lips in a passionate kiss. Tanned arms snaked up and coiled around the muscular neck of the butler, the fingers threading themselves in the fiery locks. Pale hands went like magnets to sun-kissed hips. Tongue was slipped in as manhoods grinded against each other in a heated fury.

Kisses, licks, and nips assaulted a tanned neck and torso as the Irishman inched his way down to the Latino's already erect cock. So ancient, yet so youthful.

The redhead took one of the other man's hard nipples into his moist cavern, deftly swirling his pink muscle around the sensitive nub. Wanton moans escaped the smaller person's lips and gentle bites were added to the mix.

Soon, the other nipple was given lavish attention as well, evicting more lewd sounds from the uke. A wonderfully strong hand massaged the lonely half of the erect pair.

Once the nubs had received sufficient consideration, the human continued his journey to the country's 'Netherlands'.

Spain was required to lean back against the tiled wall of the shower to keep his wobbly legs from giving out as a curious tongue licked the head of his throbbing erection. After a few more mocking licks, the mouth relented and took the impressive boner all the way in.

The man on his knees smirked around the heated cock in his mouth as he delicately ran his damp muscle along the underside of the shaft.

The standing nation squirmed and panted as his eyes rolled back into his skull. His sun-kissed hands laced themselves once again into curly locks, more impious noises seeping from his throat.

Beagan's large hands crept around to the Spaniard's backside and cupped his rump, confidence oozing from his pores. He stood up, his hands never moving, and gazed deeply into the Latino's eyes. He was searching for confirmation to resume his sexy advances.

He located it with a hazy nod.

Pale fingers experimentally prodded the country's entrance. The butler—a newbie to homosexual relations—only had an extremely vague idea of what he was doing. But, judging from the moans his uke was emitting, he seemed to be performing quite well.

He slipped a finger in and wiggled it around, then added in another soon after. He scissored his digits, something he had learned from a movie he accidently stumbled upon as a kid, to stretch the tight hole.

The sounds that the tanned man was creating went straight to the seme's erection, and he winced in momentary pain.

A third finger was harshly shoved in, the three digits wriggling around to successfully prepare the blissful brunette. Water was a very poor excuse for a lubricant, but Spain was experienced enough to take it like a man and enjoy it through the pain.

When he received another lusty nod, Beagan removed his fingers and spun the uke around and maneuvered him so that his sun-kissed chest was pressed up against the shower wall with the water raining down on the both of them.

Strong hands steadily held Antonio's hips in place as the butler entered him. He groaned wantonly as the other waited for him to adjust to the presence of an _enormous_ cock in his entrance. He began moving on his own, signaling the seme to thrust.

And damn did he thrust.

The Irishman pounded harshly into the Latino, a stream of lust-filled sounds filling up the bathroom. Screams, moans, groans; the whole lot of stereotypical intercourse noises.

When the uke's prostate was struck, his mind went absolutely blank. There was nothing but the redhead. Nothing but the bond the duo now shares. Nothing but the blood-sealed declaration of something beyond both.

Pure pleasure. Pure skin-on-skin. Pure sin.

The butler twisted the nation around so that they could stare into each other's colored gazes. Hazel to viridian.

Their lips met in a passionate kiss, the perfect confirmation of their now-unbreakable union.

Mano a mano.

Spain reached his climax at the exact same time as his lover, harshly spilling his seed all over the other man's chiseled torso. The human came hard in his partner's entrance and then removed his limp manhood from the moist hole.

Beagan wrapped his strong arms around the smaller man and cradled him to his chest.

The brunette nuzzled into the muscular chest, and then rested his ear over the man's beating heart.

"It, uh… Beats fo' ya, I guess…" How he loathed being sappy.

Emerald rose to meet hazel. Deep, loving, beautiful hazel.

Antonio pressed a kiss to the skin above the butler's heart. "Te amo."

"I love ya too. I love ya too…"

:-:-:

_**Tuesday, July 20, 2011 10:25 PM: England's House**_

"So, Spain…"

"Antonio."

"'right, Antonio. Ya wanna stay ova'?"

"Are we going to sleep in the same bed?"

"O' course, caffler."

"Then sí~!"

"Brilliant."


End file.
